Community, Life, Technology, and Perspective…

Never been a big fan of birthdays or naming a desired gift. Somewhat of a personal carryover from growing up without many material items and watching my mom provide as best she could from paycheck to paycheck along with limited help from government and occasional help from family members. My siblings and I weren’t raised on the ilk of “closed mouths don’t get fed” but more of “show humility and dignity about yourself and be thankful for what you have”. Neither philosophy is wrong and both have their benefits. We just knew if we wanted more we had to work for it.

On this birthday, I’ll be begging that you feed me- my soul. To do this my first ask is that you please write my son, Andrew Platt.

Andrew lives in the Louisiana State Penitentiary. He’s served 12 years of a 75 years sentence for armed robbery. You can go here to read more about his case from the perspective of the State of Louisiana. His address is:
Mr. Andrew K. Platt #509383
Louisiana State Penitentiary
Gator 4L3
Angola, LA 70712

Andrew and I met when I lived in Shreveport, Louisiana while serving at Barksdale Air Force Base. He was one of many players on one of my AAU basketball teams. His life circumstances were some of the toughest I had come across. After I got out of the Air Force in 1997 and moved to Fort Collins, CO to work for HP, some parents on the teams and adults in Andrew’s life felt that he would benefit from my discipline and structure as well as being out of the corrosive environment he was living in in the “Bottoms” of Shreveport. His father gave parental guardianship to me on October 1, 1997 so Andrew could join me in Colorado.

That lasted just over a year before he pushed hard enough and my patience and parenting skills were weak enough to send him back to Shreveport. He made great leaps in so many parts of his life. Academically he was above a “B” average in a more rigorous curriculum. He was able to order at a sit-down restaurant, understand basic table manners, display common etiquette, and gained self-confidence to achieve no matter the place, setting, or challenge. That didn’t change him being a product of his environment and me being an immature parent of a teenager with my own strict regiment from my life growing up in and surviving life in the projects.

After back in Shreveport, Andrew would transition from the homes he previously lived. A family who also was on the basketball team I coached in Shreveport and who helped facilitate his move to Colorado was in touch with him on occasion and attempted to assist where possible. Unfortunately, Andrew would eventually go to foster care. He remained in foster care until graduating high school, emancipating and going to college at University of Louisiana-Monroe.

I was able to travel to Louisiana to spend time with him while he was in college. I’d later learn from a different old basketball family Andrew had left college and was back in Shreveport. He spent a quick time in the US Army and even had a chance to spend a day with my mom while he was at Basic Training at Fort Jackson in Columbia, SC. But he would have an early exit. Some point later, I’d learn he was in jail.

You writing Andrew will help reduce the feeling of isolation and boost his morale from not focusing on the norms of caustic life in prison. It also helps him to have a view on life beyond prison. I believe he won’t serve that unjust sentence and when he gets out it’s important that he can connect with “reality” beyond the prison cells. And it helps boost his cause when evaluation is done regarding his readiness to leave. A post card, a joke, a few sentences, a few questions, pictures, a newspaper article, a complaint about me, or anything you choose to write is appreciated.

My next ask is more of an ask to and admonishment of myself. Talk about your personal and family encounters with law enforcement and corrections. A black person in jail is often as much a statement of America’s legal, education, and health systems as it is a about the action that resulted in the arrest. We have to talk about the ridiculousness of a bail system that forces jail time because people are poor versus guilty. Talk about a system that looks at black children and encourage school suspension, labels of learning disabled and emotionally handicapped, and fast-tracks to a regiment of government punishment without due resources to address underlying struggles, hunger, and family conditions which were directly created by government policy and laws. Talk about discrepancy in sentencing, in charges brought, in searches of property, in property seizure, in stops by officers, in recommended charges by probation and parole.

None of these things would change the fact that Andrew knowingly conspired with others to fake as if there was a threat of a fast food restaurant being robbed at gun point by an unknown robber (Andrew). He’s guilty of that and respects that he’s to be accountable for that crime. However, 75 years is a life sentence. A sentence all too often given to the poor, black, and brown so the injustice system can ensure there’s a population to provide profit with the industrial prison complex.

Please help me make sure Andrew’s name isn’t forgotten. Don’t let him just be prisoner #509383. Thanks in advance for the birthday gift.

Recently there’s been a great amount of courage from women with #MeToo. I imagine hundreds of thousands of men rolling their eyes, dismissing, avoiding, and in fear of being called out about this. I choose to face it. I appreciate what women are doing and I encourage more to come out as I expect at least 9 out of 10 women to have been sexually harassed in their lifetime. Likewise, I encourage men to minimally acknowledge the unsafe world that women live in and how we and the cultures we rule make it that way.

Part of my empathy comes from my very own behaviors contributing to this culture. For me, I’ve seen personally what young boys can do to little boys, what little boys will try with little girls, and how young boys can violate young girls. I have no doubt what those young boys are capable of when they grow up to be big boys and grown men. They genuinely need healing and I believe that healing begins with acknowledging how we’ve violated women in big and small ways that they themselves can work through their pain and anger and grief to move forward whole. I was a perpetrator of sexual assault.

I grew up in housing projects in Columbia, SC. Youngest of three children (maternal)- brother four years older and sister five years older. When I was in elementary school somewhere between 6 and 9 years old, there was a morning we were out of school but I’m pretty sure it was during the school year. A neighbor who was close to the family and around the age of my brother and sister invited me to come play video games. We were poor, didn’t have a video game set, and I liked playing. I was glad to go play. He let me play and he played the video game as well. Then there was touching and he said that if I wanted to play more I had to stroke his penis. He pulled his penis out and said I had to touch it since I already played his video game and he didn’t have to let me do that. He kept prodding and suggested I couldn’t leave without touching it. I did. His demands continued from touching him, to him touching me, to me giving oral, to him penetrating me. I didn’t want any of this and deserve any of this. I left lost and confused and hurt and afraid. I expected my family to not believe me or blame me or for him beat me up or for everyone in the projects to know or whatever goes through a child’s head whose been molested.

This happened again. Except this time, it was a weekend morning and my mom told me to go to their house to get some clothes that they were gonna pass down to me. Although we all lived in the projects, compared to us (my family) that family was well off and they regularly passed down clothes to us. I went there and the mom wasn’t there and I ended up waiting in his room to try on clothes. I wanted to throw up from the smell of the apartment. He told me to wait there and play video games. Then it all played out again. When I left there was a box of clothes for me to take home. Sometime later I would hear some of my friends joking about who got “pumped in the butt.” They joked about “fags” and laughed about knowing that it had happened to each other and denied that it had happened to them in a “I can’t admit that this happened to me” kind of way. I knew I wasn’t the only one he did this to.

Something happens every three to five years that brings this back to mind… Catholic priests, Penn State football coach, something in the news… And I watch how the victims are further questioned, slandered, and blamed for how they handled being a victim in these situations. After wondering about the facts of the case I then find myself stuck in empathy for their situation based on my own personal ordeal which I’ve still not had the courage to confront the accuser and share broadly without personal shame. I know far more women deal with this than men and I smelled the apartment.

Not long after this time or even during, we young boys were infatuated with “hide and go get it” in the evenings with the young girls. Being gay was considered somewhere between wrong and strange to hellish and disgusting. I knew I wasn’t gay but this violation of my body seemed to suggest that I was. So, it was my duty to prove otherwise by engaging with every female possible. I remember thinking that if somehow, I could dry hump enough girls that I could maybe eliminate the harm and disgust acted on my own body and soul. But it didn’t go away and I didn’t stop. I maintained a high compulsion for sexual indulgence with females in hopes of getting the feel, smell, and displeasure out of me. And instead of having an avenue to come forward to deal with my own pains I simply shared my pain with these girls through my actions and pressure on them. I could still smell the apartment.

Awful choices shifted my approach on my behavior and made me think more about my actions but never really equipped me to get to the core of why I was doing what I was doing. The first reality check came a few years later when family was visiting from out of town. An older cousin was sleeping in a room and I attempted to pull her panties down slowly. She adjusted and moved as I violated her. After several tugs, attempts, and failures I stopped and let her be. I awoke to seeing her, not knowing if her movement was out of awareness from being awake and knowing what I was disgustingly doing or just regularly movement when feeling things when sleep but no consciousness of what was felt. I was disgusted with myself because this was family and our family was close. I always struggled to get below the surface in conversations with this cousin. She’s an amazing and beautiful woman and until this letter I never admitted my action to violate her. Just buried it.

My next awful choice came one evening when I was around 12 years old. I decided that I needed sex from an ex-girlfriend which whom I had been previously sexually active. I waited until I knew her parents weren’t home. Proceeded to climb to their upstairs apartment leveraging an electricity tank, utility meters, and pulling myself up a balcony by the railings. From the balcony I snuck in a backdoor and made my way to her room and sought sex. I remember screaming and there was a struggle and I ran and escaped the same way I entered. The police were called and there was lots of chatter in the neighborhood. I don’t recall anyone ever naming me specifically but I’m pretty certain she knew it was me. But nothing was spoken of it that I remember. Though I never faced the law for this, I learned a lesson to never assume someone else will want sex when I wanted and to never use force or deception of any type. Most disgusting was I was essentially behaving like the violation that occurred to me. And I could smell the apartment.

From then on touching and sex with anyone was always consensual. But I still couldn’t get rid of the abuse that happened to me and I couldn’t talk about it for the fear of being considered gay. None of this changed me knowing and the feeling that I needed to make sure I consistently prove I wasn’t gay by having sex with women. So, I learned to charm the girls or as we’d say in the ‘hood, I developed “mad game.” But I was wary of using my game much throughout middle school and high school as sports, school, and jobs kept me busy. And the desire to be in a relationship with a girl often got in the way of being with as many girls as possible unless the assumption of monogamy was ignored. And I learned to ignore it well as I smelled the apartment.

I became that thief who made girls die inside, lose their breath, and stole hearts but couldn’t be arrested as Lauryn Hill sung about in “Manifest.” I learned to get the girl, cheat on her, move to the next, and repeat. No one could call the cops and I couldn’t be arrested. This lead to children out of wedlock and even contributed to an episode where I was once falsely accused of domestic violence which lead to an evening in jail for something I didn’t do. But it was probably karma considering my crimes of the soul. I’d pay the cost of divorce, loneliness, child support, and having lots of kids without both parents on a daily basis. And I could still smell the apartment.

Thanks to my own evolution, maturity, and exposure to gays and lesbians, I’d also get over my outward fear of being gay which drove much of my behavior. Equally important was to forgive myself and that young boy who violated me. I was angry at the injustice of what happened to me and that it emanated from him, but I also realize there’s an unearthly amount of inner pain, despair, and hurt for a child to impart such actions on other children. I’ve grieved for how that changed me, hurt me, and the man and husband I imagine I would’ve been were it not for this in my life and I’ve learned to love every bit of who I am despite what I’ve experienced and done as a result of this. Most importantly, I owe my own progress to lots of counseling which is often rejected by men of all ages. And I thoroughly expect the voice of a counselor to be a norm throughout my life.

As women bravely face their realities via #MeToo and so many other means, it’s easy for me or other men to play victim or rebel in silence. This story isn’t about the hell that happened to me and its effects on me. The focus should be on how the failure to talk about and heal from my hell became a hell for many women as I smelled that apartment. All too often our society (men and women) abandon those women and remove their voice which ultimately denies their healing. I choose to be a safe place for those women. I apologize for how I’ve contributed.

Sunday, June 4, around 8:10pm I entered the booking room of Sacramento County Juvenile Hall with a police officer, a good kid, and a load of emotion. I was doing a Ride-Along in Del Paso Heights with the Sacramento Police Department. There would be a roll call with an interesting trivia question and an insightful briefing and interactions to prepare officers to patrol. Once on the beat, we had a couple relatively minor calls with serious situations to those involved but not too serious in general. Then we joined a call where four people were already detained at an elementary school following an alarm going off. When we arrived, four young boys sat on the ground as two officers stood nearby and someone resembling a school janitor sat on a bench out of the way with a large set of keys in hand. Two of the kids appeared to be about the age of my eleven and a half year old son while the other two could pass for fifteen or sixteen. The officers were waiting for CSI to come take fingerprints and attempting to get parent information from the boys. The kids and officers had already been there for a while when I arrived. The call came in while I was with two officers who did an excellent job of facilitating an unfortunate and potentially volatile situation with a family who was duped into illegally subleasing and facing an imminent eviction.

When we arrived, the kids and officers were calm and one of the officers was joking about the sprint the other had to make to corral the kids who apparently ran upon encountering the police officers. There was also conversation initiated by the officers seemingly to relieve some of the fear and stress the kids might have been experiencing during this moment. I stood leaning against a pole looking at the kids and flashing back to similar situations I was involved with from my childhood. I was appreciating the kids were taking the situation serious while also comfortable enough to interact with each other and the officers. After standing and listening a bit, I actually sat on the ground with them to be on the same physical level as we talked about them, school, friendships, my kids, sports, and more. Following attempts to confirm guardian information and make contact, eventually officers came over to take each of the boys for separate one-on-one conversations on what happened.

From the discussions with the children, the officers gathered that allegedly the boys went into the Library and one of the children (13 year old) purportedly planned to take an iPad but put it back and all of the boys exited the building without removing property. According to the officers this was a 459 offense which per Wikipedia is, “Burglary…an unlawful entry into a building or other location for the purposes of committing an offence.” This was explained as a felony. As a Ride-Along, the officer I accompanied took the time to explain to me what was going on. The officers were of the thinking that the child was 14 years old versus 13 years old. I noted the incorrect age and hoped this would be sufficient to have him released to his guardians as there are cases where being fourteen carries more weight than thirteen. I pled with the officer to have another discussion with his superiors and personally pledged to serve in whatever capacity necessary to support this child during and after this situation with the hopes he would not go to juvenile hall. The incident and consequence was escalated and determined that the child had to be taken to juvenile hall.

My mind was very focused on the damage that was being done in this situation and the innocence of this child. When I was sitting on the ground speaking with the kids, this child in particular stood out with his manners and willingness to engage with me and the officers. Whether it was noting that his butt was hurting from the time sitting on the concrete and asking permission to stand, trying to understand whether I was an officer or not since I came with them, asking one of the officers “how long you been growing your mustache?” or pleading with me to say that he looked older than 11 or 12 because he was 13… The kid was a pleasure to be around without coming off as cocky nor dismissive of the gravity of the situation at hand. This good kid was about to take his first ride in the back of a police car and to be booked in jail for minors. When the officer asked the child to come talk to him that last time, it was obvious to me that that kid wouldn’t be seeing the others again that night and I got up and followed. After being told by the officer he was about to be taken away the child was confused, shaken, tearful, and very afraid. He spoke of his mom and consequences, he explained that he didn’t take anything, and he wanted it understood that he learned his lesson and nothing like this would ever happen again. Despite his genuine sorrow and all other factors the officer had to take him.

To calm this young nervous soul, I interceded and talked him through the situation at hand and reassured him that everything would be okay as best I could in this awful situation. The child eventually gathered himself and walked to the police car with me as I hugged him with one arm over his shoulders. We spoke some as we rode and I was able to get phone numbers for parents and make calls. At juvenile hall he was booked. Paperwork filed, shoe laces removed, draw sting taken from pants, assessed by the nurse, clothing and personal property taken, and a full body search. At one point while the officer filled out paperwork, the young man asked, “will they let me have a fidget spinner in here?” He was sincere and it was obviously a tool of comfort that he sought to help him through whatever was soon to happen.

After leaving juvenile hall and returning to the police car, my words to the officer was “This is wrong. At a time when cities and law enforcement say they want a better relationship with the Black community, this one incident has done far more harm than good.” This lead to a very respectful, open and constructive conversation. That conversation does nothing to help the current situation for that young man who was put in jail for that night. I do expect it to resonate at least a bit when officer is back on his beat again. The reality is that the officer did a good job of “policing.” When it comes to the rules and procedures, I’m guessing it will be found that he and the other officers did everything accordingly. However, I think a process that would lead to a child to being taken to a correctional facility after he took nothing, caused no obvious material damage, was prepared to apologize, and was honest throughout the process- seems to be criminal in itself.

Assuming the allegations are correct, my gut says this incident has taught all the kids that when you make a mistake (illegally entered and considered taking something), realize that you’ve done wrong (stop and put it down), and leave the premises that the full weight of the law will be thrown at you. So run faster next time because you’re likely not to receive justice. I can hear others countering me with “the kid broke the law and has to deal with the consequences.” To me, these consequences create an antagonistic if not hostile response to law enforcement. I also hear those that say, “they pretty much admitted guilt when they tried to run.” I respect that view might be the case in many neighborhoods or for many others. I also understand how that can be perceived that way and I don’t think it’s the right thing to do. I too was likely to run until I was in my twenties and managed to get somewhat established with work and marriage to where my fear of what I could lose weighed heavier than my fear of what the police might do to me. Living in an upper class neighborhood today versus my childhood, having a personal relationship with the senior police officers in my city and sitting on the Board for the Police Activities League, I still have to check myself and my instincts to flee for my survival or fight for my children at the thought or possible interaction with police. Simply saying “they” need to learn not to run is counterproductive if you haven’t explored means the individual (police officer) and agencies (law enforcement) can engage with the community long before interaction occurs with the community. It’s important to establish relationship and trust that can shift hundreds of years of fleeing for safety in these situations. And there happens to be plenty of images that suggest maybe a Black man’s odds are better if you’re faster versus what might happen if you’re apprehended.

At the end of the night, the officer was encouraging me to come on another day to see how things play out. He thought this incident may not have been a good example to take away. I let him know this incident and the others we had (which are worth writing about) are exactly why I did the Ride-Along. I plan to do more and I plan to encourage and expect the same from others in the community. I let him know that I don’t like the outcome at all because my ultimate goal is to help bring about a positive relationship between law enforcement and the Black community. This incident didn’t help that goal in my opinion. I also let him know that I appreciated his listening to some of my tips throughout the day on going beyond just what’s expected to close a call and look at means to help the person. I sincerely appreciated his professionalism in his work.

My first priority out of this is supporting the young man along his path to success in life. He was released Monday morning and is home truly facing the consequences of his actions. He and I have an informal agreement that he’s going to be a future prosecutor. I’ll be doing more Ride-Alongs. I’ll be hosting events to bring together law enforcement with citizens who are wary of law enforcement to establish some respect, rapport, and understanding as we look at the ultimate goal of providing better solutions. There’s many sides to this. Please get involved and make difference. There are lots of emotion, good kids and good police officers whom we need to encounter.

In a couple of weeks will be 25 years since I was approaching my high school graduation and had to face the reality of gun violence that resulted in the death of two friends, Tyski Gabriel and Chris “Punkin” Sharper. In seeing many begin to share their resolution for this coming year, I’ve thought lots about Tyski and Punkin and their families. I try to imagine what they would look like, what their lives would be like, and how things might’ve been different for me.

I selfishly wonder what would be different for me because Tyski and Punkin’s death was yet another awakening in my challenging childhood and adolescence. In the days following, several of us adrenaline and anger loaded young men gathered with the goal of exacting revenge on the perpetrators and those who we believed contributed to the fate of our friends. I had withdrawn to deal with my sadness of their death alone and to focus on my part time job and going to college, but received a call from my best friend who told me of the meeting and when he’d come to pick me up. I wanted in and wanted nothing more than to avenge the death of Tyski and Chris. As can be expected, when we met we were poorly organized in how we would retaliate and after lots of talking, scheming, and emotional venting we eventually dispersed. For me I swung between being livid and relieved that nothing happened because I had managed to get a handgun that night in hopes of making a significant contribution and that wouldn’t happen.

I would end up being relieved that circumstances didn’t escalate further causing me to use the gun and I was also determined to find some way to honor Tyski and Punkin. After a ridiculous confrontation later in the school year, my principal, Mr. Henry Young admonished me on being a leader and called me out to honor Tyski and Chris by being successful in life and helping others. For the past twenty five years, I’ve thought of Tyski and Chris a few times a year and it’s always stood as a reminder for me to seize the moment, to do my best, and to make a difference in the lives of others. Though I’ve come up amazingly short in my personal life in many ways, I’m at peace that my life to this point has honored my friends as I wanted and as Mr. Young directed. As I look back at 2014, I realize that my work isn’t done and that I have tons to offer relative to improving life for those who are living in situations similar to that I was reared in. After taking a few years off from being highly engaged in community service, I look forward to upping my involvement in 2015. Surprisingly, I also find myself in a position to engage with law enforcement and communities that have historically had low trust for them.

After spending most of my life hating the police because of my perspective and how I witnessed them treat me, family, friends, and others in the community, I managed to also spend time advocating for families and seeing more inappropriate and dismissive action by law enforcement individuals which further disgusted me. However over the past three years, I’ve gained a broader perspective as a result of many close interactions that helped me view police officers as people and individuals. I’ve sat on a non-profit Board with a Chief of Police, established a relationship with a different police chief, partnered with police officers to find computer equipment for a non-profit, sat on a police hiring board (that was an odd feeling), played basketball with police officers (couple decent ballers), shot guns at a range with officers (that was fun), and even made suggestions for new cadets. Although none of my interactions over the past few years erase my past experiences with police, I have gained a level of appreciation that I never had and even more important is I’ve established relationships with officers as individuals and have seen some of them engage in communities to proactively discuss changes when necessary to ensure there’s understanding of how the police is perceived by the community and possible changes to address.

One might ask, “What does this have to do with Tyski and Chris?” To me, the stupidity that killed Tyski and Punkin stems from the same disregard for and lack of compassion for life that would have a police officer quickly resort to deadly force in certain situations and not others, or have a young man to thoughtlessly take the life of another within his community, or to have a jury not recognize or ignore that police authority doesn’t beget necessity to use any level of force, or that perpetrating revenge on someone that killed a friend is just as sinful and immoral as someone killing police officers who some might feel targeted and plagued by. I believe that if we face the same core problems that resulted in my friends deaths 25 years ago, fewer people will be in the situation 25 years later wondering what their friends lives would be like or how they would look because we would’ve taken action to still have them alive.

Below are my thoughts on practical actions that I believe need to be taken to shift behavior and accountability to improve the lives of all citizens and establish respect between law enforcement and communities where they garner the least trust. I intentionally omitted “training” as it’s very subjective and often used as a means to exonerate or refute blame versus build bridges and relationship. Likewise, I omitted cameras because they do nothing to build relationship or increase the likelihood that officer and suspect will treat each other as human versus serve to hopefully prove blame after something has already gone horribly bad. Hopefully each individual (starting with me) can find a means to see what they can do as individuals to improve the situation prior to or in direct alignment in speaking of the shortcomings of others.

Actions for the community-

Vote in EVERY election possible. City and school leaders will respect your vote even if they don’t respect you based on any bias

Spend as many hours volunteering in a classroom than you will in a bar at a night club or at parties (Go to any school where the help is needed)

Spend as many hours reading with or ensuring children are reading than they will watch TV, play video games, or play on a smartphone/tablet

Yes, I said it. Sorry, more often than not we know those perpetuating violence and crime and we need to face that those individuals are holding us back

Actions for cities and local law enforcement-

Provide financial and promotional incentive for law enforcement to live in high crime zip codes and beats within the city (include in contract where possible)

Incentivize staff with pay or promotion to include citizens from high crime areas on hiring and promotion boards for police officers

Incentivize police officers with pay or promotion for participating in sports, mentoring, and other activities within high crime areas

Don’t participate in the school system’s criminalization of children which is most egregious in communities of color

Actions for state and federal government-

Implement background checks on all gun and ammunition purchases and discontinue sales of automatic weapons

Provide rehabilitation and job training for perpetrators and connect time served with a financial remedy for victims, families, and society

Reward grants to schools that encourage partnership for accomplishing

Reward grants for things done in the “For cities and local law enforcement” section

None of this will change that Tyski and Chris’ families have to deal with their death every birthday, every holiday, every milestone, and every family gathering, but I pray we all engaged to make it better for others. So this year, I send my love and continued blessings to the Sharper and Gabriel families and I recommit to them and Mr. Young to continue to honor their lives.

About three years ago I found myself having a conversation with an assistant principal at my son’s middle school. Jacob (now 17 year old junior in high school) was being suspended for a couple days for getting into a fight with another boy after reacting to the boy aggressively stating the word nigga toward Jacob after Jacob told the boy he found it offensive and had asked him to stop saying it while singing a rap song. For that incident both were suspended two days. I coached Jacob on using his words and avoiding violence while equally praising him for taking a stand for things of importance him. As much as anything, I was upset with how we give that word so much power while equally upset with how much a large swath of American society finds it acceptable to use the word or any of the derivations.

Fast forward to Friday, May 2, 2014, where I received a text from Jacob stating, “Something happened at school today I need to talk to you when you get home.” My stomach dropped. I then quickly stepped out of myself to view whatever it was from his perspective and decided he needed to know that he can trust to be honest with me and responded, “Okay” and “No matter what. I love you.” That was one of my biggest steps ever as a parent. I’m the authoritative dad who learned to lead with fear from my mom and my ancestors who largely learned from their slave roots. So I wrapped up what I was doing at the office and headed home… practicing my responses, pushing myself to ask open ended questions but not too many, seeking ways of being supportive and firm, and anything else I’ve failed in year’s past.

When I got home, Jacob was tucked away in his room as usual and made his way to my room to tell me what had happened. He told me of an incident on Thursday at lunch where a group of students opened a window/door to a room used by the Drama Club and how he and a group of friends came to see what they were doing. In the room were some cookies that could be reached of which the group goaded Jacob to take and he complied. After eating some cookies and giving some to his group of friends and the kids that opened the window, they moved on to their normal day. Apparently on Friday, there were more cookies to be taken and someone took cookies and left a note that chided the Drama Club and included the word “faggot” in reference to those involved with the work of the Drama Club.

My first two questions were, “Who wrote the note?” and “Do you know who wrote the note?” Then I think, “Oh shucks, I’m supposed to be helping him feel comfortable right now but I’m angry on so many levels, somebody help me!” He noted that the administrators think they know who wrote the note, it was not him, and the administrators insinuated that the person who is suspected actually attempted to blame the writing of the note on Jacob.

So then I shift from the note and seek to clarify if he took part in the opening of the room versus his involvement being specific to the taking of the cookies that he already admitted to. Needless to say I struggled to deal with any of the “feelings” until my mind was able to understand the facts behind what happened. So my questions continued to focus on the who, what, when, and where. He was adamant that he had nothing to do with opening the room though he failed to report seeing someone else doing it and he admits to wrongly going to the next step of removing the cookies. Anything beyond that, he says he wasn’t involved with. No letters, no visits to the room the next day, nothing. And I believed him, accompanied with several added questions to validate and triangulate.

Now I’m able to include a little of the feeling stuff. Why did you take the cookies? How did that feel? A few of those kind of questions came out and it was good to hear him talking and sharing more than stressed and responding. Some of my favorites are “how do you think I should deal with this” and “how do you feel about the consequences you’re already facing.” Essentially he thought enough consequences had been experienced and those he’s facing (five days of no school) were very fair. Pretty convenient situation from a teenager’s point of view. In the dialogue I was particularly interested to understand how he felt about being accused of writing the note, to understand the punishment levied on all involved with opening the room, and to understand the prime driver of the suspension – opening the room, taking the cookies, or the note. His belief was that his suspension was for the note and the fact that the note likely wouldn’t have occurred had he not taken the cookies. I simply failed to connect taking cookies or being an unknowing accessory to a note that he didn’t believe in to a consequence of five days of suspension. Interesting enough he noted that the administrators were also pursuing suspensions against the students who ate cookies and somehow used a guilty by association argument to justify this.

For his part, Jacob was pretty distraught about any connection to the note because he has a great deal of respect for the Drama Club. Actually as part of his leadership role on the school’s Media Club he frequently worked with the Drama Club. Coincidentally, he spent Wednesday night watching the production of Shrek because he was supposed to film the show on Friday night. Equally so, he was disappointed about giving in to peer pressure and how that manifested in demeaning the efforts and hard work of the Drama Club. I was hoping to hear more remorse about taking the cookies. After having a chance to marinate on this over the weekend, I’m also unsettled around the failure of action to use this as a teaching opportunity regarding the demeaning of others and the insensitive if not damaging words and intent of the note. Jacob doesn’t own that specific action individually, but we as a society do regardless of who the perpetrator was. Silence or lack of effective action is acceptance.

Towards the end of my and Jacob’s conversation, he gave me the letter from the school which took me back to a recent post I made regarding the criminalization of children. Sarcastically, I ponder if I should celebrate that this criminalization occurred in a mostly upper class neighborhood with virtually no socio-economic diversity and very few Blacks or Hispanics versus the usual scenario. After listing the Education Code, which seemingly has no relevance to Jacob’s actions, the letter goes on to state that “Student was involved with other students in the breaking and entering of a locked facility on campus of 5/1/14. Students also took part in leaving an inflammatory note with the word “faggot” written in it as well as taking and eating cookies…” Seeing the words “breaking and entering” in the letter were very frustrating as they directly reference criminal activity and the remainder of the note reminded me that I’m only hearing one side of the story from Jacob. With clear suggestion that he had more awareness and/or involvement with opening of the room and writing of the letter I had to find an approach of confirming his story in a non-threatening manner. Regardless of how low of a threshold it may be, I’m glad I avoided raising my voice, accusations, or any form of threat in the process of confirming his story yet again. My reality is that I was hoping to protect myself from being made a fool when questioning the school and their choice of discipline. I called the school to speak with the assistant principal, but she was gone for the day and this will linger at least until Monday.

In the meantime, I had Jacob call three men whom I love and respect so he could share the experience with them and hear their counsel. From that he heard that 1. They too were kids at one point in their lives and this too shall pass, and 2. Versus just saying sorry within an apology it is much more meaningful to spend time writing an apology to connect with his feelings and equally demonstrate the importance of the apology by investing time in communicating via written word. I like what he heard. I also thought back to my high school days and the incident that happened with Jacob in middle school. When I compare this to what I did in high school and even the fact that just a few years ago he got in a physical fight or assault for those whom choose to criminalize behaving like a child, I find it quite ridiculous for a five day suspension to be the consequence for taking some cookies and being an unknowing and un-supportive accessory to the writing of an unacceptable letter.

In fairness to the situation, I’m still operating with only Jacob’s perspective on the events mentioned. After a low-key Saturday so Jacob could study for an AP test this coming Monday, I had him call all the friends whose names he gave to the administration and I called all their parents to forewarn of potential action the school might also take for those who ate a cookie. If possible, I also wanted Jacob to be able to speak with the person that allegedly accused him of writing the letter as well as to the Media Club sponsor since Jacob was a no-show to film the Drama Club perform Shrek. In both cases, the goal was to gain understanding and to seek or extend forgiveness. I should add, aside from the phone calls to peers, Jacob also made calls to find means to earn money via manual labor with the money to be donated to the Drama Club. It’s these type of actions that I believe bring the necessary understanding, respect, and learning in such a situation versus criminalizing children and suspending them from school. I pray for our school administrators and teachers as the ask of them is high and I pray that my dealings with them tomorrow don’t reflect my current disappointment.

To the LGBT friends that I know and have yet to meet, I apologize for my past history in condoning the hate and ignorance within the note that some ill-informed child left associated with this incident. Unlike the “N” word, I’m not familiar with the usage being pervasive and normal in today’s music or society so there’s no excuse there. And in my case, I can honestly say that I used the “F” word frequent and without relent in my childhood and on to my time in the military. I didn’t begin to gain respect until building a friendship with lesbians in the US Air Force at the time and later to have a great friendship with a co-worker in Northern Colorado. It was in Greeley and Fort Collins that my exposure would grow to understand that my position of “at least gay people have the choice to choose to be gay or not” was at best rude and easily a pilfering of one’s soul. This was only stamped further being that I lived in Fort Collins when Matthew Shepard died there in October 1998. I realize my part in his death. Most important was reciprocating friendship to my good friend Jackie and the many other amazing people who accepted me as a human first.

The situation that Jacob is experiencing is a stark reminder of a step show that some friends and I did at our high school when I was in tenth grade. We reenacted the step show scene from the movie School Daze and aside from the reference of that word, we inserted “Drama” to replace “Gamma” since there were no fraternities in our high school. I’m smart enough to know there’s no connection to Jacob’s situation and my actions over 25 years ago, but I believe the same forces of hate and ignorance that struck us to think that step show was okay back then are still prevalent to allow some child to write the note at Granite Bay High School this past week. It’s also reminder of how disappointed I am that in choosing a place to live that is conveniently locate to my job and resources that are preferred for my family, I also am in a place where all too often “difference” is not discussable. Whether it be broad conversation along the lines of those needed by the young man that thought it was okay to aggressively say the “N” word in my son’s face because it was in a rap song, for the student to scribble the “F” word in reference to the Drama Club, or for my generation who still use both of those words and are probably too fearful to admit how they’ve used them, we need to be able to talk about it and be honest about it. And “we” means that there needs to be more people in the authoritative “majority” opening up and being an honest.

Jacob’s going to be okay and will learn from this- I’ll see to it. I fear those that need it most will not get the needed lessons and very likely be leading our companies of the future potentially without the lessons that were here to learn. Stop criminalizing children and focus on setting examples, teaching lessons, and reinforcing their learning of critical life lessons that will build them to be great leaders of our future.

Murder, armed robbery, rape, and assault with a deadly weapon were some of the charges being faced by the young men I spent time with yesterday (Saturday, April 26, 2014) while at the Sacramento County Juvenile Detention Facility. I sat and listened to them, hugged and dapped them, talked trash to them, laughed with them, gave them pointers on exercise, played basketball with them, and just built rapport. The time was huge in helping me to correlate many events and feelings I’ve faced as a child and as an adult.

As much as I hurt for the victims of the crimes these young men are charged with, I also hurt and want for these young men. For the most part, I related to their stories from my own childhood or from time spent in communities I’ve lived as an adult. I believe love and structure will do so much more for them and society than punishment and incarceration. This is separate from the justice, compensation, and help clearly needed for the victims of the charges.

Some of the young men reminded me of myself as an adolescent and I told them that the difference between me being where I am versus having to also struggle through the situation they’re in might simply be because I was a faster runner than some of the friends I grew up with and those friends didn’t “rat” me out when they got caught by the police. Today, I’m frequently viewed as a clean-cut, no non-sense, up and coming leader in a Fortune 20 company. And that is an accurate description of who I am and how I carry myself at work. It’s also frequently assumed that I was reared in a middle-class house with both parents who owned a vehicle, benefited from a private school education, and was an A-B student in school. All of those are incorrect assumptions.

Despite not liking what I heard from some of the young men at juvenile hall, I related to what was shared with me. Minus most of the violent acts I could personally associate in some way. Before the age of 14, I had plenty of experience with the wrong side of the law including criminal damage to property, petty theft, underage drinking, drug possession, and one near-reported instance of breaking and entering and attempted rape. I was lucky in avoiding a police record.

The summer following 7th grade, I was caught shoplifting in a K-Mart. Luckily the store officer was also a local police officer who recognized me as one of the better athletes from my All-Star baseball team and I was released to my mom. At the time, I thought being released to the police was far better than being released to my mom… and so did my behind after getting home. Less than 6 months later I was questioned by police following significant property damage to cars from rocks being thrown at a train transporting the vehicles. There simply wasn’t enough evidence to establish a case against me or any of the other potential co-defendants, but again, that didn’t save me from my mom but it saved me from a police record. The summer following 8th grade, I was shipped to Flint, MI to be with my uncle who was serving in the US Army. Most of my childhood mates weren’t so lucky to have such an outlet.

Looking back at my poor choices as a child, I believe a 2014 version of me could very easily be one of the young men that I visited yesterday. In contrasting my adolescence with the young men I spent time with yesterday and guys I grew up with, I found (non-scientific assessment) a few things of note. 1. To a person, they had an “initial” recorded contact with police before they ever got to their current crimes to get them in juvenile hall. 2. One of their early contacts, was for something that my 17 year old son or others in my upper middle class community could have easily dismissed with a “low cost” attorney, 3. They remained in or were returned the same home environment and/or community following their initial contact with police, and 4. Having no mature or positive outlet to communicate and work through emotional and mental stress without drugs. Other symptoms include growing up in homes with a single or no birth parent, low-incomes, failing grades, contact with foster care system, access to guns, and incarceration of family members.

Regardless of social situations and personal circumstances, we’re a nation of laws and it’s absolutely appropriate to hold people accountable for their actions. Thus I’m more focused on actions that can be taken to prevent or reduce the likelihood of children getting to a point where such serious crimes seem to be an acceptable option based on illogical thinking or external influences. Regardless of the outcome of the current charges being faced, most of these young men will some day be released and it’s to all of our financial benefit (tax dollars) and personal safety (future crime potential) that their return to society is much improved from the life they lived before being incarcerated. And who knows, maybe, just maybe they did not commit the crime they’ve been charged with. As far fetched and unbelievable that might be to some, I had a personal experience of advocating for a young man in 2005 where the police clearly got the wrong person and a high school student was wrongly incarcerated for 5 months.

My hope is we (American society) will work more diligently to 1. stop escalating the criminalization of American children for minor crimes which typically become learning lessons for those above working class incomes, 2. redirect children and their families to community service and improvement projects that include counseling versus places of incarceration following “contact” with police, and 3. treat drug usage more as a mental or medical condition versus a criminal act. Though, I don’t believe these steps alone will stop the criminal activity of all children, I’m confident they will result in more cases of career leaders and fewer prisoners. Essentially, I think our country greatly benefits by having more 40 somethings like me who were lucky than to be caught in a rotating door of a criminal justice system that hurts tax payers, brings little to no benefit to our economy, and potentially threatens the safety of others.

I also encourage others to seek the experience I had yesterday. I’m going back and could use the help of many others to do the same across the nation.

Awaking with the opportunity to serve my world is a daily blessing that I aim to maximize even though it’s easy to limit my focus to the daily grind of work, kids, and home and miss on the opportunity to serve my world beyond myself and my home. Yesterday, Saturday, April 26, 2014 was filled with countless blessings that had me in a seemingly constant state of reflection and sobriety.

After dinner, I was so thankful, energetic, and encouraged. At this point, thinking my day would be “lightened,” I sat with my laptop to get caught up on work and wound up watching the movie Fruitvale Station while doing so. “Lightened” didn’t happen and the movie stirred so many of the same emotions that were already awakened earlier in my day. In the backdrop of this day was the news surrounding the comments of the Nevada rancher, Cliven Bundy who’s comments were quickly overshadowed by the alleged comments of NBA team owner, Donald Sterling. The movie accompanied with the recent national headlines combined to remind me of how the naiveté of so many (all races) would find themselves surprised by such events or in denial of how such comments from these individuals and fate such as in the movie are direct descendents of institutional discrimination, abused unearned privilege, and mental slavery.

I’m thankful for my many failures over the years to productively recognize and address the descendants of institutional discrimination, abused unearned privilege, and my own mental slavery that have resulted in me learning from those failures to now be in a position to personally help others who consciously and unconsciously struggle with those same poisons. Yesterday was a blunt reminder of the pain, consequence, and inequality that endures in the lives of so many as a result and how I’m obliged to serve my world in contributing where possible to conquer these sources of division and hate.